There are those who think it was disrespectful for the cast to call out a member of the audience. “You go to the theater to be entertained,” those folks say, “not to have politics shoved down your throat!”

If that’s your take, you might want to stop reading now. You’re not going to like what I have to say.

There are others who will argue that by focusing so much on this Hamilton controversy, I’m falling into Trump’s trap of redirecting attention from his other scandals, especially the news, announced the same day, of the $25 million fraud settlement in the Trump U case.

Those folks have a point: we need to pay attention to as many of Trump’s misdeeds as we can. But this critique implies the theater is somehow not a part of the larger political world, that it is a distraction from “the real world.” I couldn’t disagree more. Theater is a distillation, not a distraction.

I can worry about all of this and still have thoughts about what happened at Hamilton. As I tweeted on Saturday, when it comes to worrying (paraphrasing Whitman) “I am large, I contain multitudes.”

Okay, now that all that is out of the way….

I have always thought that Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Hamilton is like a first cousin to Shakespeare’s Henriad (which comprises Richard II, Henry IV, Part I; Henry IV, Part 2; and Henry V). Like Richard II, Hamilton depicts the overthrow of a king. Like Henry IV, Part I, Hamilton addresses the aftermath of that overthrow and subsequent internecine conflicts. Like Henry IV, Part 2, Hamilton embraces the place of the tavern and the commons.

But most of all, Hamilton reminds me of Henry V with its looming questions of succession and its grappling with ideas of nationhood, national identity, and pluralism, the political role of the center and the periphery. Where Henry V expands the definition of “Englishness” with its inclusion of Welsh, Scottish, and Irish soldiers, Hamilton defends an inclusive and expansive meaning of “Americanness”–insisting on the fulfillment of the promise of equality–by casting people of color in main roles.

But with the aftermath of the performance on November 18th, these days Hamilton is reminding me most of Richard II in the way the play has adapted to and entwined with contemporary political crises.

The staging of Richard II has a history of being famously controversial. By depicting the deposing of a king (in very immediate and symbolic ways), the play skates perilously close to treason. Elizabeth I has long (if erroneously) been reported to have said, “I am Richard II know you not that?” And supporters of the Earl of Essex paid the Chamberlain’s Men to perform Richard II on the eve of the Essex rebellion.

Richard II may or may not have been written with these intentions in mind. Art is funny like that—it morphs and mutates, takes on a life of its own.

Similarly, Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Hamilton was written before Trump’s election, but the social and political ideas running through it have unintended connotations and consequences.

The first occurred in this famous exchange between Lafayette and Hamilton in “Yorktown (The World Turned Upside Down)”:

COMPANY:
The battle of Yorktown. 1781

LAFAYETTE:
Monsieur Hamilton

HAMILTON:
Monsieur Lafayette

LAFAYETTE:
In command where you belong

HAMILTON:
How you say, no sweat
We’re finally on the field. We’ve had quite a run

LAFAYETTE:
Immigrants:

HAMILTON/LAFAYETTE:
We get the job done

That line (“Immigrants/We get the job done”) caused the audience to erupt in cheers. Small wonder when Trump has been declaring that he will deport immigrants, build walls, and deny Muslims entry into the country based on an unconstitutional religious test.

The other big moment of the night, though, shows how Hamilton has adapted to current political crisis: King George singing “What Comes Next.” According to this account of the performance in Fortune,

“The audience members weren’t the only ones reacting to Pence’s presence. King George III, played by Rory O’Malley, reportedly sang portions of “What Comes Next?” directly at Pence and had to pause the song for a standing ovation after he sang the words, “When your people say they hate you.”

My view: Trump’s response had little to do with any concern for Pence. Rather, Trump took the audience’s reaction as a personal insult. I don’t know whether Trump has seen Hamilton or read the lyrics or heard the music. But I can imagine Trump seeing himself in the portrayal of King George: rich beyond the imagination of the people he represents; unwilling to listen to criticism; petulant, childish, and out of his depth.

So far Trump has only claimed to be King of Debt, but he is not far from some Trumpish version of “I am King George III know you not that?”

The AP just announced that Donald Trump will be President of the United States.

The man who has declared that America’s top priority will be walling ourselves off from our neighbors and who thinks climate change is a hoax. The man who wants religion to be a litmus test for citizenship. The man who helps himself to women’s bodies even when they object.

The man who has done nothing for America will now be its leader.

And that fact is making me feel small and sad and helpless.

I don’t know what to say to my teenage daughters to make them feel better. “Work hard and you’ll succeed”? “This is the land of opportunity”? This election has shown those to be feel-good lies. Hillary Clinton worked hard and was one of the most qualified candidates in American history. And yet her 30 years of public service meant nothing when faced with a man with no political experience, no policy expertise, and no concern for America’s position in the world.

I keep wondering what tomorrow will look like. For me, on the surface, it will be much the same. I am a privileged, white, heterosexual woman: sadly, these things make me safer than other Americans. My fears are not immediate like those of my loved ones, my dear friends and family, who must worry about their fellow citizens, emboldened by a Trump victory to act on their racism, homophobia, and transphobia.

What can I do? What can any of us do?

I have no idea. I don’t know what it will look like to push back against xenophobia and fear and small-mindedness.

For now, this is what feels radical and revolutionary: to be good, kind, and loving. To be logical and reasonable. To open my home and my heart with courage and love. To talk and, more importantly, to listen.

And to do this, I’ll need your help, friends. We’ll need to protect each other from harm and love each other through times of misery and pain. We’ll need to celebrate our joys and laugh with each other.

We’ll need a radical and transformative love that will save us from ourselves.